


We're Your Wings

by Giggles96



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Family Feels, Fluff, Gen, Non-Sexual Age Play, Platonic Cuddling, typical lucifer-ness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-21 12:05:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9548324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Giggles96/pseuds/Giggles96
Summary: “Behold,” Mazikeen pronounces, toneless. She indicates the lone figure surrounded by sheets of white. “Lucifer Morningstar.”It’s Lucifer, no doubt about it. He looks like he’s absorbed in the weary task of completing Lux’s tax returns. But rather than banging on a calculator or wielding a fancy fountain pen, her favourite British asshole fumbles with a stubby crayon.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> At the request of a dear friend who tricked me into watching this bizarre show. Not that I can complain. I’m a little in love. This one’s for you, dearest.
> 
> I may be inclined to extend the length if this picks up much interest. It’s a young fandom though, so I’m not expecting much. But who knows? Maybe inspiration will strike at a later date. I would be thrilled if this sparked a wave of similar fics in this fandom, because now that I've written it, I kinda wanna read it. But I'm not sure that's likely.
> 
> There is a scene with Dr. Martin included, so heads up for some seriously dubious psychiatric practises. I have no clue what I'm doing.
> 
> Hopefully it doesn’t stink of OOC.

**WE'RE YOUR WINGS**

 

 

Chloe can’t get hold of Lucifer.

They’re supposed to be working a case together, but she hasn’t seen, nor heard from him since this morning, which—when it comes to Lucifer—is extremely disconcerting. She’s called and left him about a thousand voice messages, but he hasn’t once picked up, or returned a single call. Loathe as she is to admit it, Chloe may be a tad…worried about the pesky little devil.

He’s never _not_ worming his way into her personal life and insinuating himself in her open cases. He’s volatile and crass, and utterly infuriating in high-pressure situations. Chloe can never quite predict how he’s going to offend her next. Just when she thinks he can‘t get any more exasperating, Lucifer never fails to outshine himself, reaching never-before-seen heights of _unbeliev_ ability. And yet…she loves working with him. Don’t ask why. She’d be stumped to explain it. Doubts she ever could.

All Chloe knows is that she’s had more fun these past few months than she ever had throughout all of her years on the force combined. And Lord knows, Trixie adores him. Can’t get enough of him.

And Chloe for her part…yes, she’s fond of him.

Lucifer is just— _Lucifer_. He’s unlike anyone she’s ever met, and is ever likely to meet again. God help her, Chloe _cares_ about him. And ain’t that the kicker.

Taking a cab to downtown LA, she shoulders her way into the art deco building. It’s the most logical place to get her search underway. Chances are she’ll hit upon her missing partner dallying obliviously at the bar, sipping at a finger of whiskey and entertaining a throng of drop-dead gorgeous admirers. If nothing else, Mazikeen ought to have an idea of what her boss might be getting up to (or under whom), or offer an alternative means of getting in contact with the elusive club owner. There’s very little Lucifer does without first informing his playmate—and supervisor-slash-enabler—about it. It’s complicated.

Chloe edges past the golden sign spelling out _LUX_ in classic, marquee letter lights. Broadway-style—oddly fitting of Lucifer's signature blend of class and over-the-top theatrics.

Immediately she crosses out an impromptu performance in her mind. The silky grand piano stands proud but purposeless without a familiar handsome figure crooning into the vintage microphone, polished vocals and comfortable fingers flying over ivory keys. Not putting on a show, then. That’s a first.

Squinting into the congested lounge, she directs her gaze past the high concentration of LA’s most elite herded under a trio of smoky lavender spotlights and scantily-clad dancers to the bar where she spots Mazikeen mixing drinks. It looks as though Maze spies her too, for her back straightens and she shakes out her hair, and all of a sudden Chloe finds herself pinned under a ferocious glare.

Intimidated despite herself, Chloe makes her way over and slides onto an empty barstool.

“If you’re looking for Lucifer, I’m afraid he’ll be unable to assist you in your little murder investigation today.” The aggressive bartender twists her lips in a sarcastic smile and slams a cocktail in front of a wide-eyed supermodel, clinking ice and sloshing half of the fruity concoction onto the counter. It’s a wonder the glass doesn’t shatter. Without breaking eye-contact, Maze spears an ice-cube with a cocktail umbrella and dismisses the poor girl. “Better luck next time.”

Chloe ignores the uptick in her heartbeat. “What? Where is he? Is he okay?”

In response, Maze bares her teeth. Her hostile attitude toward Chloe seems more magnified than usual. Defensive— _protective_ , Chloe realises. “What’s it to you?”

“I just want to know how he is. Please.” When pleading does nothing to make the bartender soften, she adds, “I won‘t leave until you tell me what‘s going on. Lucifer’s an ass, sure, but he usually gives a couple courtesy complaints before skipping out on a double-homicide.”

Maze rolls her eyes, a glimmer of a smile that‘s there for a moment and gone in a flash, but acquiesces. “Fine. You really wanna know? He’s back there. Catching up on some paperwork.” She jerks a thumb behind her. Chloe frowns, skeptical. That doesn’t sound like him.

Blowing her off for paperwork? Nuh-uh. Not buying it.

“Come. I’ll show you. Just remember—jinx. No take backs.”

Confused but curious, Chloe follows as Maze leads her towards a dark, intimate corner usually reserved for VIP’s and stops short of a curved button-tufted booth where she can just about make out a dark head of hair hunched over the table under dim light fixtures.

“Behold,” Mazikeen pronounces, toneless. She indicates the lone figure surrounded by sheets of white. “Lucifer Morningstar.”

It’s Lucifer, no doubt about it. He looks like he’s absorbed in the weary task of completing Lux’s tax returns. But rather than banging on a calculator or wielding a fancy fountain pen, her favourite British asshole fumbles with a stubby crayon that he drags across old inventory print outs, accidentally veering off the page and scoring waxy scribbles across the small table. Lucifer’s brows are knitted in concentration, his movements messy and erratic. He seems worlds away. Lost to her, somehow.

Chloe’s speechless.

“Is he…” Her brows furrow in bewilderment. “ _Wasted?_ ” She’s never been around Lucifer when he’s deeply intoxicated before, and she can’t fathom why he’d pick now, of all times, to get hammered. Or why he’d be holed up here instead of making a spectacle of himself up on top off the bar, dancing and crowing and treating the crowd to a cheeky strip-tease. That’s Lucifer. _That’s_ the Lucifer she knows.

Irresponsible, flippant, arrogant idiot. Not this…quiet, colouring stranger.

Chloe pores over the little corner he’s claimed as his own, on the lookout for an empty bottle of single malt scotch or speymore-cut crystal-tumbler, but there’s nothing but a scattered box of Crayola, half-eaten Oreos, and—hang on. Is that what she thinks it is? What in the world is Lucifer doing with a _sippy cup_?

“Oh, no.” Maze snorts. “He wishes. I don’t permit alcohol in his condition.”

“Condition? What, he sick or something?”

Mazikeen smiles a sinister enigmatic smile and pats her shoulder. “Or something.” She makes a broad gesture encouraging her to approach him. “Why don’t you see for yourself?”

Chloe braces herself. “…L-Lucifer?” she murmurs, creeping closer. “It’s Chloe. I came to see if you were okay—”

“Ch’oee!” He perks up at the sound of her voice, beaming bright and blinding. “Look!” Lucifer flings out an empty hand, thinks for a second, then withdraws the arm and thrusts out a crayon-clenched fist instead. “Mazy got me crayons. So I drawing. Wanna see?”

“S-sure. What the hell.” Even his smooth voice has a distinctly childish lilt to it. Just what the heck is happening here?

Flicking a perplexed glance at Mazikeen, whose arms are crossed and wears a face like stone, Chloe scoots into the booth beside her partner and forces herself to smile as Lucifer shoves a crumpled piece of paper at her. A self-portrait, she guesses. Crudely drawn. Not at all good. A devilish horned figure surrounded by flames and wielding a barbed pitchfork. Trixie hasn’t produced anything this clumsy since, well, kindergarten. She has to strain to discern what exactly it’s supposed to be.

“…Like it?”

Lucifer‘s grin is in danger of wavering, so Chloe swallows hard and inhales deeply. “Of course I do!” she breathes, radiating enthusiasim. “It’s amazing. Just the best. Right, Maze?”

“Certified masterpiece,” comes the dry reply.

Chloe ignores her. “I noticed you’re using a lot red. That your favourite colour?”

Mouth pinched, eyes downcast, he offers an unconvincing half-shrug. “’Guess.”

“Not a fan?”

Lucifer chews his lip. “No? Maybe.” He shrugs again. “Dunno. S’pposed to be.”

Picking up on his distress, Chloe rubs his shoulder and pastes on another smile. “It’s okay if you aren’t. Not everyone is. Personally? I _love_ red. Huge fan. The hugest.” The tension in his muscles slowly melts away, so she gives a reassuring squeeze and asks, “Think you could draw another? I’d love one to give to Trix. If I told her it was from her buddy Lucifer, I just know she would be over the _moon_.”

“No angels?”

“Not if you don’t want any. I bet it‘ll be great either way.”

Lucifer bobs his head, almost shyly, and ducks down to work. As she watches, his free hand sneaks up and into his mouth where the notorious playboy proceeds to absentmindedly suck on his fingers. Mazikeen tugs the hand away to pluck off two slobbery rings. He doesn’t even notice.

“Choking hazard,” she shrugs. Despite everything, Chloe is stunned.

Sure, Lucifer is immature. Lord knows he can be maddeningly juvenile. But this…this is new. To all outward appearances, he’s the same dapper gentleman as always in his lightweight Armani, fitted vest, and dark slacks, unbuttoned collar giving way to a tease of chest hair and sleeves rolled up to his elbow.

Yet, upon closer inspection, there are crinkles where Lucifer usually takes care to smooth and his immaculately-styled hair is free of the high-quality pomade he favours, scruffier, on the wilder side of life. He looks softer like this. Sweet, naïve.

Chloe feels her maternal instincts tug at her. There are many scenarios in which she has imagined having to bail out a drunken or otherwise unruly Lucifer, but never in her wildest dreams was this one of them.

He was never this vulnerable.

She’s seen his scars. She knows how messed up he gets. _Thought_ she did, anyway. But who knows what kind of unspeakable trauma Lucifer suffered at the hands of his Father? Perhaps this is his way of coping with that pain. Stranger things have happened. Sex doesn’t solve everything. Or, you know, anything.

Chloe should not be so taken aback. Yet, somehow, she is. Considering all of Lucifer’s idiosyncrasies, this is nothing. Another drop in an ocean of weird.

To masquerade as the Devil, willingly embrace that title _?_ Be the jaded target of all the connotations and contempt attached to the label; arguably one of the most reviled characters in history? Why would anyone associate themselves with that? Chloe wishes she could hunt down the monster responsible for crushing Lucifer‘s self-worth at such an early age. Whoever conditioned him to consider himself the patron of all evil. God, it makes her blood boil.

“What—?” She hesitates to ask. But she needs answers. The pieces are starting to come together and the picture they paint ain’t looking pretty. “What age is he?”

“Now?” Mazikeen deliberates. “About three. Give or take a year.”

“Why…?”

“Hell knows. He just gets like this sometimes. I generally just wait it out.” Her tone is cool, but Chloe thinks she detects a hint of concern underneath. “Must be those crippling Daddy issues.” The sneer she sends Chloe’s way is half-hearted at best, mostly to maintain pretences. “You know how it is.”

“How…” Chloe watches Lucifer tip back the sippy cup for a swig of juice and wipe away any stray droplets with the sleeve of his much cherished shirt. Blackcurrent, by the looks of it. Christ, that'll stain. “How often does this happen?”

“Depends. Couple times a month, maybe.” Shooting a glance over her shoulder, Maze grimaces and appears conflicted. “Listen, I gotta job to do. So if you wanna stay, stay. Doesn't bother me. Heads up, though? He‘ll probably stay that way all night.”

“Is it…safe? To leave Lucifer unsupervised? You know…in a bar?”

“Why’d you think I’ve got him sitting in the corner over here? I gotta keep an eye on him; make sure he doesn’t start like, crying or something.” Maze wrinkles her nose and gives a full-body shudder. “Hell, I’ve been burned before. Though honestly, Luci’s pretty well behaved like this. Not like he’ll go anywhere. Still, I can‘t risk him running into trouble, can I? Besides, much as he hates being stuck in a crowded club, he hates being alone more.”

“I can take him,” Chloe offers. “Y’know…if you don’t mind. Go upstairs, get him settled.” She shrugs, acting nonchalant, though inside her heart is thundering. “Trust me, I‘ve got plenty of experience dealing with cranky kids. Bet it‘s past his bedtime, huh?”

Maze winces, but she doesn’t disagree.

Chloe feels bad talking about him like he’s not even there, but Lucifer honestly doesn’t appear to mind. He’s too busy adding the finishing touches to his latest magnum opus, though occasionally he‘ll stop to yawn and tiredly swipe at his face. It’s…fuck. It’s adorable.

“Sure. Whatever. Don’t blame me later, when he goes all psycho on your ass.” Maze flashes a tight smile, but Chloe swears those dark eyes hold a glimmer of appreciation. “Boss likes to keep this sorta thing private. He might not take too kindly to the interference, know what I‘m saying?”

Chloe purses her lips, curtly nods. “Understood.”

“Yeah,” Mazikeen snorts out a laugh, backing away. “I don’t think you do.”

Only once the sashaying woman disappears into the crowd does Chloe release her ragged breath.

When she peers over at Lucifer, he’s slumped over his drawing, sucking his thumb and blinking sluggishly as if fighting to stay awake. Feeling a tender smile ghost her lips, Chloe leans over to shake him and pitches her voice soft and gentle. “Lucifer? C’mon, it’s time to go. No sleeping ’til you’re tucked in bed. That's the rule.”

Knuckling his eyes as Chloe helps him to his feet, dazed but compliant, Lucifer sways in exhaustion and continues nibbling on the tip of his thumb. She snakes an arm around his and feels the scratch of stubble against her cheek as he leans into her for protection, snuffling softly. It makes her heart twist and tighten.

They take a shortcut to the staircase, stumbling forward through the parting masses. Many of whom regard Lucifer with suspicion and Chloe must concede that if she didn’t know any better, she too would assume the regal club owner was drunk off his ass and liable to upchuck at any moment. It’s probably too dark amid the intimate ambiance that Lucifer prefers for anyone to tell that the hand pressed to his mouth is not the clever precaution of the nauseous, but a source of relief and comfort for the scared and scarcely-awake.

Lucifer’s awkward gait is certainly a far cry from his usual swagger. However, Chloe bears the brunt of this with grace. It doesn’t help that his sleepy grunts are turning to petulant whimpers, drowned out by the rowdy music and routine partying.

“Mhm...m'drawings…" he whines, squirming to escape Chloe‘s hold while she steers them towards safety.

“Got ‘em right here, don’t worry.”

Lucifer sniffs and tugs on an ear lobe. “Loud.”

“I know, baby, I know. It‘s okay. We‘ll be outta here real soon, I promise.” She rubs his forearm in a soothing gesture, belatedly flinching at the term of endearment that slips out. She’s talking to him like he’s some scared little kid. But...that’s how he’s acting, isn’t it?

She can stress about it later. First things first.

Uncoordinated as he is, Chloe must guide her partner up each individual step and stop for a breather at the top. She’s too distracted to notice the approach of two attractive ladies—which, judging by the sly look on their faces—Lucifer has definitely had sexual relations with one, or both, in the past. By the time Chloe realises, it’s too late. And next thing she knows they’re cornered against rosewood panels waiting for the brunette bombshells to pounce.

Chloe predicts a great deal of disappointment in their near-future.

“Hi, Lucifer,” the tall one purrs, flaunting the suggestive dip in her v-line and glancing up from under heavy lashes. “You, Mr. Morningstar, are a difficult man to track down. We’ve been looking for you all night.”

The other rests a hand on his chest with a sultry smirk. “You didn’t forget about our proposal the other night, did you? A promise is a promise. The Devil never backs out of a deal.”

“Sorry, ladies,” Chloe cuts in before Lucifer, bless him, suffers a stroke. Poor thing looks positively panicked, wide-eyed and endearingly helpless. “Not to jump the queue but, hey. Finder’s keepers, right?” She cocks a brow in challenge.

The thrown pair exchange a loaded glance, tilt their heads and shrug.

“Perhaps we could…strike a new bargain,” the tallest suggests, nonchalant, as Chloe punches in the number for the penthouse. “We’re not fussy.”

“I’m sure you’re not.” Chloe shoves a disorientated Lucifer into the elevator shaft. “Unfortunately for you…I don’t share.”

The doors fuse before they have a chance to formulate a response.

Sensing eyes on her, Chloe glances over to see Lucifer frowning at her. After a minute, he opens his mouth to speak. Before he has the chance to utter whatever double entrandre has darkened his mind this time or present another one of his filthy propositions, Chloe bites, “Not a single word.”

Only when he recoils from her sharp tone, doe-eyes reflecting back a world of hurt, does she realise her mistake.

 _Crap_.

“Oh, shoot. Lucifer, I’m sorry,” she apologises, utterly sincere, as the man returns to worrying on his fingers. “I didn’t mean to snap.”

“S’okay.”

“No. It’s not,” Chloe sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. She‘s in way over head with this. “I’m sorry. Won’t happen again.”

With a low groan and the clangour of metal, they step out into Lucifer’s luxury pad. Bypassing the fully-stocked bar and spare piano, Chloe hesitates before the entrance of the lone room she has never once felt welcome to intrude upon, despite declining countless invitations in the past. Excluding that one time while she was under the influence, never has she stepped foot inside Lucifer’s bedroom, because that was one line she simply wouldn’t cross. But this is different, right? This is a friend helping out another friend.

Nothing untoward.

Still, it takes Lucifer fisting his eyes with one hand and sucking his thumb in the other, to give her the final push she needs. Chloe drags the grouchy man over to the king-sized bed and gently forces him to lay down. Only…when she shoves back the smoky pearl covers to create space, Chloe unearths a starry snuggle blanket, pale grey with white star shapes to match the rest of the impersonal decor. Her breath catches in her throat.

There’s no way he sleeps with this every night. Especially with the amount of company he entertains. Someone would be guaranteed to notice. This sort of stuff can’t stay secret for long. Not for Lucifer, anyhow—the most forthright, shameless person she knows. He has no qualms about airing his dirty laundry in public. Omit’s the odd detail, sometimes. But not often.

Hence why this is so…bizarre. Chloe’s floored.

Perhaps, for all that he preaches about embracing one’s innermost desires and living without inhibition, there is one thing Lucifer will not allow himself to reap the benefits of. Mazikeen claims it’s a monthly thing. Once or twice, on average. But how often does he opt for a night alone, just to snuggle up without fear of judgement? How often might he seduce some all-too-willing overnight guest, just so that he can’t? Does he desperately distract himself with sex until he cracks? Do any of his one nightstands ever wake to find their bedfellow with his thumb in his mouth?

After manhandling Lucifer onto the mattress and rolling her eyes at the pout that adorns his handsome face as she unlaces his shoes, Chloe takes a moment to caress the soft fleece blankie. There’s a faint whiff of Lucifer’s addictive cologne. The fabric’s a little worn. Clean, but loved. This is dear to him, Chloe deduces. She wonders if he picked it out himself. If he hated himself for purchasing it, wanting it.

Probably.

“Not ‘leepy,” Lucifer whimpers, kicking at the black silk sheets. “Nowannoo, ‘Lo-ee.”

“Shh, shh.” Chloe toes off her pumps and crawls onto the bed beside him. Cupping a hand around the back of his neck, she eases him down until Lucifer’s head is pillowed on her lap. Then she tucks the starry blanket around his tense form and smiles as he tentatively inches closer, burying his face in her stomach and expelling a soft breath. “You‘re just tired, aren‘t you? Tired boy.”

One hand traces circles onto his back; the other cards fingers through fluffed-up hair, pulling lightly at the dark strands. Lucifer _melts_. He nuzzles into the touch like he is starved for it.

Chloe takes a moment to admire the stone walls featuring Sumerian engravings, before Lucifer’s small voice pulls her attention back to him. “You…you stay, Lo-ee?” The hand which had been kneading the folds of his blanket latches onto a handful of her shirt. He noses at one of the buttons at the bottom.

Classic self-soothing behaviour. It is, quite possibly, the cutest thing she’s ever seen. Damn him.

“Uh…I’m not sure, baby. Why?”

His grip tightens. “I wan' to stay with _you.”_

Her movements still. After a pause, she clears her throat and shushes, “Go to sleep.” Chloe runs a hand up and down his spine, as she does with Trixie when she‘s ill, and pets his hair. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Lucifer yawns, “Tired.”

“I know, baby. It's sleepy-time.”

His eyes drift shut. He smacks his lips. “Ni-night, Lo-ee.”

“Goodnight, Lucifer. Sweet dreams.”

*

Watery sunlight filters through the glass and bathes the camel-coloured couches in a dreary, cornsilk yellow. Chloe peels back crusty lids and squints up, up, _up_ in confusion. And is that a shadow standing over her? _Holy crap,_ it is.

“ _Jesus_.” She scrambles back and yanks up the bedspread she‘d been wrapped in, though there‘s nothing worth hastening to cover up. “Lucifer! What the hell? You scared the hell out of me.”

His lips quirk in a wry smile. “Not quite, my Dear.”

“I crashed on your couch,” Chloe explains after a beat, as though that much were not obvious. “I hope you don’t mind. I just…couldn’t make myself leave.” She winces. “After.”

“Yes. I am well aware of how little faith you have in me, Detective. But as you can see, I’m quite fine, thank you very much,” he says in a clipped voice. “No need to appoint a sainthood just yet.”

“Lucifer…” she groans, grinding the heel of her hand into her eye. “Don’t be like that.”

“What,” he lifts a patronising brow, “ _Honest_?”

“No. An asshole,” Chloe snaps. “You took care of me when I showed up here, drunk out of my frickin' mind and as vulnerable as I‘ve ever been. In front of _anyone_. So don’t act like I did what I did out of pity or some kind of power trip—hey, any excuse to treat you like an invalid, right? Free easy-peasy blackmail material, sounds like me, doesn’t it?—because I didn’t. I was just returning the favour. It was nothing you wouldn’t have done for me. And, guess what? I didn’t even _mind_. But _you_ clearly do. And I can respect that. You weren’t ready for anyone to see that side of you. Maybe you never intended for anyone other than Maze to. But _I did_.” She throws her arms up and huffs out a breath. “And I can’t take it back. Not that I'd want to.”

Too late.

Lucifer’s expression has completely shuttered over. There’s no chance of getting through to him. He’s _livid_.

“You seriously don’t see a problem with this? I drew you a bloody picture, Detective!”

“And?”

Lucifer gapes. Then throws back his head and laughs, delighted and bitter. The sound is grating to her ears.

“And? _And_ , she says! Oh, I don’t know. I don’t suppose you’ll be needing this, then?” He brandishes the crumpled drawing before her like a damning accusation. “A _ghastly_ drawing courtesy of yours truly. What would you want with it? Gonna stick it up on your fridge? Proudly show it off like one of your spawn‘s?” He scoffs, warps his lips in a bitter smile that looks more like a snarl. “I very much doubt so.”

“Actually…yeah.” Chloe matches his furious glare with one of her own. “I think I will. Hand it over.”

“That was a joke, Detective.” His scathing tone takes an even nastier turn. He jerks his chin toward the drawing crushed in his fist and screws up his face. “Much like this artistic monstrosity. ”

“It’s mine,” she asserts, “You gave it to me. In fact, in order to get that, you would have had to search my bag. That‘s theft, and I won‘t let you get away with it.”

Lucifer shakes his head at her, beyond mystified. “Why… _why_ do you want it so bad? You’ve seen it. It‘s hideous.”

Chloe juts out her chin. “I told you. It’s amazing. The. Best. I like it.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. This is _ridiculous._ ” The self-professed Prince of Darkness cradles his head in his hand and turns his back to pace the length of his penthouse. His jaw is clenched, forehead pinched; nostrils flaring, contemplating. He halts suddenly. Spins around to face her. “Show of hands everybody. Who here spent their Friday night being babysat by his friends, colouring in stupid pictures and slurping on his own bloody fingers instead of attending an incredible threesome? Oh…that‘s right. _Me_. Just me. The bloody weirdo.”

Chloe grimaces. “Lucifer, you’re not a weirdo.”

He laughs.

“Aren’t I, Detective?”

“No.” She stands firm. “You’re not.”

Seconds stretch into minutes as they stand there, appraising each other. Chloe is not backing down. Not now, not ever. She will not let him bully her. He wants to stew in self-hatred? Fine. But how dare he try to force her condemnation of him when she‘s been nothing but kind.

“Yes. Well.” After a moment, Lucifer smiles thinly and inclines his head. “It’s like I said. You make me vulnerable.”  
  
“Yeah.” Chloe nods. “I’m starting to get that.”

“You don’t _really_ desire this picture?”

“You bet your damn ass I do. Gimmie.” Glaring at him until he forks it over, Chloe does her best to smooth out the creases and straighten the dog-eared corner, before folding it over and dropping it inside her bag. Only then does she grin up at Lucifer‘s pensive face and utter, “ _Thank-you_. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I should get home; relieve Dan of his fatherly duties.”

“Of course. Heaven forbid you have a life outside of me.”

“Yeah. Crazy.” She slings her strap over her shoulder and collects her jacket from the floor next to a potted plant. “We good?”

He makes a show of rolling his eyes skyward. “We’re good.”

“Glad to hear it.”

She’s almost at the elevator when he calls, “Oh, and Detective?”

He waits until she turns around. “Yeah?”

“Kindly do not breathe a word of this to anyone,” Lucifer tells her, as his face darkens. “Am I clear?”

“Totally transparent,” Chloe smirks. “Don’t worry, Lucifer. I got your back.” She hasn’t even made it to the ground floor before she’s digging out her smartphone and thumbing the call icon. “Dr. Martin? Yeah, it's Chloe. Listen, I need to talk to you about something regarding Lucifer…”


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

“You say the ease with which Chloe accepted your circumstances disturbed you. Yet I sense a great deal of relief.”

“ _Ah, ah, ah,”_ Lucifer tsks. He waggles a finger in her direction. “We’re not on the clock now, Doctor. Can't you leave well enough alone until our next appointment? Or the following session? On second thought, why don't we put a pin on that for sometime in the distant future? Ideally, as far down the line as I can push it without you breathing down my neck every two seconds about denial and other such nonsense. Shall I pencil it in for three years time or...?”

Yeesh.

Can't anyone have some fun, no-strings-attached sex these days without the third degree? 

Linda readjusts her glasses, fixing him an appraising look.

“Or we could discuss it now. Like adults."

It’s hard to take the doctor seriously while she's rocking the crazy sex-hair look and with stubble burn flaring across her neck. But she’s determined. He has to give her props for that, if nothing else. This is the third time Dr. Martin has brought _it_ up. She’s like a dog with a bone. Fat chance she’s letting this go anytime soon.

"Humour me.”

“Alright. _Fine._ You got me. _”_ He rubs the grain of his unshaven chin, pretending to give the subject some serious thought. “If you’re asking whether or not I’m grateful that she did not react unfavourably, then, yes, I am. Do I understand why? Not in the slightest. And I believe, I reserve the right to be a tad confused about the matter. Even Maze isn’t what I would say... _comfortable_ with that…particular side of me. Chloe, on the other hand? Didn’t so much as blink. Not a laugh. Nothing.”

Linda props herself up on the pillows. Twirling the steam of an half-empty wine glass—they’d cracked open a bottle of his finest red wine earlier in the evening. Not his preferred alcoholic beverage, but each to their own, he reckons—she probes, “This was abnormal to you?”

“Well, yes,” Lucifer retorts, “Of course.”  
  
“How so?”  
  
He scoffs. “I'd say the answer is rather obvious, wouldn’t you?”  
  
“You're deflecting.”  
  
“Am not,” Lucifer huffs, then rakes wandering fingers through his scruffed up hair. He’d opted for an effortless side-wave today, having anticipated the need for a no low-maintenance hairstyle. This cross-examination, on the other hand? Very much unanticipated.

It’s making him crave the comfort of his trusty thumb. Chomp on a bloody nail, at least. Yet he refrains, shoves his hand under his thigh to resist temptation. That would only spur her on. Possibly even prove her point. “Such behaviour is not befitting of—” He cringes when his voice cracks. “It is inappropriate for the King of Hell to behave in such a manner. Surely this much is reasonable to you? One might accuse me of many a reprehensible deed, but one thing the Devil most certainly is not is weak. _I_ am not _weak_ ,” he spits.

He needs to put some distance between himself and this conversation.

Naked, in such close quarters with his skin pebbled with prickly goosebumps, Lucifer feels exposed. Vulnerable. He doesn’t like it.

Pushing back thin sheets and climbing out of the bed, Lucifer treats the doctor to a brief viewing of his back dimples and spectacular ass, before he steps into a pair of discarded pants, tugs them over toned calves, and loops up his belt.

“I cannot tolerate such disgrace to my name. To indulge in such… _childish_ fantasies. It’s inexcusable. Rest assured, I shall not fall prey to such appalling conduct again.”

Linda shrugs one-shouldered. “Why not? No harm done.”  
  
_“No_ harm done—?!” Pants slung low on the crest of his hips, Lucifer fires an unbelieving glance over his shoulder. He struggles with the button on his slacks. Damn butter fingers. Can‘t seem to—fasten it up. “Have you not been listening to a single word I've said?” Lucifer takes a break from his dressing difficulties in order to tap on an invisible microphone and hold it mockingly to his ear. “Is this thing still on? You can hear me, can‘t you? I‘m not just yapping on to myself?”

Linda kindly lets the attitude slide.

“From the sounds of it, Lucifer—” Her eyes narrow, contemplative, at his incompetent fumbling, “—this could be worth exploring. Therapeutic, if you will. Examining what it is in particular that ties you to this emotional outlet could very well be enlightening. A healthy balance must be maintained, of course. We wouldn’t want you disappearing into this mindset entirely. However, as a stress-reliever every now and then, alone or with someone you trust—that I see no problem with.”

_At last_.

The button slips into place.

So distracted by his triumph, Lucifer almost fails to pick up on the implications behind the woman’s words. “Hold on a minute.” He freezes. “Run that by me again. Are you seriously recommending I try _replicating_ last weekend‘s catastrophe of an evening?”

“I wouldn’t phrase it like that," she hedges, "But, yes. Age-play, essentially.”

The self-professed Ruler of Hell blanches.

“Absolutely not.”

How can she even suggest such a thing? As if he is _ever_ going to sink to such depravity ever again. No way. Never.

Bending down and accentuating the fine sheen of sweat glistening between his shoulder blades, Lucifer snatches up his shirt from where they’d come crashing through the door, shedding clothes as they went, and shakes it out. Creased, bedraggled—He scowls at it. A far cry from when he donned the crisp dress shirt this morning, freshly laundered and folded in cellophane. Lucifer does his best to beat out the wrinkles, before shrugging it on. Grumbling to himself as he painstakingly does up the buttons, depriving the good doctor of an exclusive showing of his chest. What a pity.

Stopping. Starting all over again.

He cannot for the life of him understand why this boring task is so difficult all of a sudden. Side-effect of the current topic at hand? Perhaps. Lucifer flips down his collar in one brusque move and growls.

“But, _why?_ Lucifer, why are you so quick to shoot down the idea of something which would impart an inner sense of peace and harmony with yourself? You, who remain so staunchly loyal and  _vocal,_ even,to the importance behind pursuing that which gives us pleasure?”

He bites his lip and bucks up, squirms for another moment, then zips up his fly with a frustrated grunt. “Did you miss the part," Lucifer pants, "Where I drew the Detective an oh-so-pretty picture?”

Linda shrugs, undisturbed. “She kept it, didn’t she?”

“Yes. And that was _weird_.”

“Because she liked it?”

“ _Yes_." He laughs. "Thank you. Now we‘re getting somewhere.”

“Because she _valued_ it,” Linda presses. His brain throbs without warning. “Lucifer. Have you stopped to ask yourself why it is you feel so comfortable around Detective Decker that you lower your defences and allow her to glimpse at the purest, most impressionable parts of yourself? It sounds to me like you have _very_ strong opinions around this. Why do you think that is?”

Lucifer throws on a charcoal blazer over his shirt and gives the lapels a yank. “Was I wrong in assuming you have a point? That was the foregone conclusion, though perhaps I was too hasty in my assessment.”

“I’ve hit a nerve. You’re lashing out.” Well, excuse him if he has a certain degree of reservation surrounding the advice of the therapist he's quite literally in bed with. “What I mean is it takes a lot of guts to reveal each and every facet of ourselves to someone, and I can only imagine how unsettling it must feel to have done so involuntarily. Believe me, I understand your reluctance to place yourself in that position of trust anytime soon. However, if you want to put this behind you once and for all…Lucifer, you should.”

His response is sharp.

“ _The Devil depends on no-one.”_

“You’re afraid. I get it. It’s natural, Lucifer,” she weighs each word carefully, “To fear rejection.”

Lucifer averts his gaze. Looking down to fiddle with his cufflinks, he snorts, “Nobody rejects me.”

“No-one but Chloe.” Her reply is swift. Linda is not easily deterred. “And therein lies your problem. She’s rejected all of your sexual advances thus far. What’s to stop her from rejecting this side of you as well?”

Of its own accord, his lower lip pokes out. “That’s not what this is about. I don’t _need_ her approval.” He is adamant, almost petulant, as he plops down on the edge of the mattress and tugs on a pair of leather oxfords. Linda makes no attempt to hide her appreciation of the corded muscles on his back, rippling as he laces them up.

“I disagree. You respect Chloe far too much to risk exposing yourself to her ridicule. Part of you reasons that before must have been a fluke; that it was too good to be true. Yet, you refuse to test it. You can’t bear the thought of her thinking any less of you.”

“And tell me, Doctor. Why on _earth_ wouldn’t she?” Lucifer ambles over to the liquor cabinet. Swiping a seasoned bottle of whiskey, he serves himself a splash of bourbon, neat; raises the lip of the glass to his mouth and breathes in the brisk aroma of charred vanilla and geranium. “How can I expect her to accept that a man of my calibre—my _history_ —having lived for eons without so much as shedding a single tear, would be reduced to snuggling with a fuzzy _blanket_? The Prince of Darkness does not _snuggle_. He does not _ache_ for a paternal figure. I am the rebellious son, am I not? It doesn’t make any sense for me yearn for a blasted symbol of authority, only to deny it. As I inevitably would.”

“Makes far more sense than you think,” she mutters. “I wonder, however, if you believe you are being fair to yourself, Lucifer? Were it anyone else you would be egging them on regardless of how unconventional their desires. Why are you exempt?”

He considers the flaming-honey liqueur. Glowing seductively as he swallows a sip. “I‘ve found fairness to be an abstract concept when applied to the Horned Scapegoat.”

“Are they horns?" Linda muses, "Or the remains of a broken halo?” He tips more bourbon down his gob to save himself from having to dignify that with an answer. "We’ve touched on this before, though it seems we've never gotten to the heart of the matter. Your father—”  
  
“Has _nothing_ to do with this,” Lucifer counters, vehement.

Knocking back the remainder of his drink, he hisses through the burn that scalds his throat like it’s some kind of undercooked meat, and sets about pouring himself another. If this conversation continues, he’ll be forced to polish off the entire bottle.  
  
“I beg to differ. Lucifer," Linda sighs, "Whether you care to admit it or not, your time spent with the Decker family has dredged up a repressed desire within yourself for an open and honest expression of the love and affection which might have been absent during your youth.”  
  
_“What_ youth?” Lucifer cries incredulously, gulping back another generous mouthful and throwing his hands in the air, slopping a spatter of amber over the floor. “I’m older than the moon and the stars. Than humanity itself!”  
  
“ _Exactly_ ,” she crows, as though they‘ve made some bollocks breakthrough or something. She never listens. Why didn’t he choose a therapist who actually _listens?_ “You were never allowed to just _be_ a child. Your subconscious seeks to rectify that, now that it has been presented with an opportunity to experience what a ‘normal’ loving family is like. In your case, this has manifested as a classic psychological defence mechanism known as regression, wherein you adopt a more innocent frame of mind to process, or escape from, complex emotions. Unless you address these issues, Lucifer, I’m afraid they will only continue to intrude upon your daily life. Welcome or no.”  
  
Robbing another scorching swig, Lucifer wipes his mouth with the back of his wrist and chuckles, low. “You know, Doctor,” he laughs under his breath, “I have tolerated a great deal of psycho mumbo-jumbo during our time together, but this really takes the cake. I believe that this has been a sufficient amount of introspection for one day, thank-you very much. Clearly we're not getting anywhere.”

Exceeding his daily quota of self-reflection has the unfortunate consequence of making him hurl.

Mainly due to, er, extreme alcohol consumption. But it’s hardly his fault he needs to anaesthetize the feelings before they have the chance to copulate. Breed like bloody rabbits, they do.

“Lucifer,” Linda says, a warning note to her voice. “This isn’t something you can just ignore. Not everything can be willed away, you know. I understand that this is difficult for you, but if you truly wish to keep your personal and professional lives separate, then you must satisfy whatever longing resides within you to revert back to a more childlike state of mind before you endanger the lives of yourself and those around you. Think about it: what do you suppose would happen were you to…I don’t know. Age down in the middle of the precinct, or an interrogation, or the pursuit of an armed criminal?”

The Devil’s throat clogs up, imagining the threat presented. His own life? That he is free to gamble with to his little black heart‘s content. But Chloe’s? Trixie’s Mother’s?

No.

Never.

Lucifer deflates. “You’re right. You’re absolutely right.” He slumps back against the wall, dragging a hand through his hair and heaving a sigh of defeat. “There are some risks I simply cannot afford to take. Chloe trusts me to have her back, and have her back I shall.”

“I trust that you will.”

“Though I suppose it begs the question…” He chops down a sprout of fear. “What do you suggest I do, Doctor?”  
  
“Leave it to me." Linda smiles. "I think I know someone who would be more than willing to help out.”

*

Lucifer has always been a tad melodramatic.

Which is why—after escorting Dr. Martin down a half block to where she parked her rather generic silver sedan—he returns to the comfort of his bed for the purpose of burrowing under his starry blanket and letting himself sulk. Stupid therapist persuading him to do constructive, healthy stuff like _talk about it_.

And, yeah, sure, Lucifer doesn’t need any help with the ole’ blabbedy blah. But all this opening up about your feelings and being honest with yourself and confronting your fears…it’s not at all what it’s cracked up to be.

He feels utterly betrayed by Oprah and corny Lifetime movies and those hilarious inspirational quotes he found on Pinterest that he and Maze had cackled at. They told him he’d feel _good_ about unburdening himself; now he just feels worse than ever!

_This too shall pass?_

Oh, go screw yourself.

This is awful. What is this funny churning feeling in his stomach? That pressure behind his eyes? The terrible swooping sensation befalling his gut? He did not sign up for this. All Lucifer wanted was some nice sex. He loves sex.

He does not love this.

Seemingly without his permission, three of Lucifer’s fingers embed themselves in the wet haven of his mouth. He sucks on them lazily, his spare hand playing with the soft material of his blankie. The rapid battering of his heart slows; he feels sluggish. Lucifer isn’t even aware that his eyes are drooping, lost in the moment and absently yearning for a warm body to cuddle with, until his body jerks at the unexpected sound of the elevator pinging.

“Lucifer?” Chloe’s voice calls out in the silent penthouse.

Bloody hell—

All colour drains from his face.

“Lucifer, you here? Maze said I should come on up.”

Leaping out of bed, Lucifer spins around for a minute, dazed, before he remembers the fingers stuffed in his mouth. A string of drool stretches out before him as he removes them from his teeth’s evil clutches. He crinkles his nose at the ooey-gooey slime in disgust. Quickly shucking the blanket from where it’s draped around his shoulders and stuffing it under his pillow out of sight, Lucifer wipes his hands down the front of his pants to conceal all evidence of his activities and tries not to look as flustered as he feels when Chloe rounds the corner and stops short at his appearance.

“There you are!” she exclaims in visible relief. “I wasn’t sure whether Maze was messing with me or not, or if you had some chick stowed away somewhere. But I can see now that you‘re…” Chloe pauses, cocks her head at him. “What were you doing just now?”

“Nothing. Nothing whatsoever. Late night,” Lucifer explains, fixing a somewhat pained smile in place. Already, simply by being in her presence, he feels…small. Like at any moment he‘ll be reprimanded, having been caught out in a naughty fib. “Thought I’d take the liberty of sneaking in a quick cat-nap while I had the chance.”

The detective nods, remaining doubtful.

“Right,” Chloe drawls. And damn, if she doesn’t pack a helluva lot of scepticism into the word.

Her keen eyes scope out the unassuming bedroom. There’s a pinch around her bottom lip as her gaze slides past the depleted whiskey and catches on the disturbed bed.

"Wanididid _-wanted,"_ he curses his rebellious tongue, "Some time to myself. Rest up. Indulge myself and all that jazz."

She _harrumphs_ , unconvinced.

While she dissects his living arrangements, Lucifer takes advantage of the reprieve, released from his partner’s undivided attention, to straighten his clothes and dab at the corner of his lips, grimacing at the smudge of saliva he happens upon there. If he hadn’t been so distracted covering for himself, maybe the Devil himself might have observed the falter in his friend’s breath as her eyes landed on the untucked corner of a fleece blanket. But alas, Lucifer fails to take note of his error, and, unbeknownst to him, Chloe’s suspicions have been confirmed.

“So!” Lucifer claps his hands together. “Detective! What brings you here?”

“You,” she answers, blunt, shifting her weight from one foot to the other and folding her arms across her chest. “I thought we agreed not to make it weird?”

Right.

Better to plough right through the awkwardness, then, shall we? He always preferred to ignore the elephant in the room.

He blinks. “We did.”

“Then why have you been ducking my calls all week? I’ve been working a case. A big one. Thought you might have wanted in.”

“I do.”

“Alright.” She eases off slightly. “So what gives? If this is about before...there’s nothing to be ashamed of. Or feel nervous about. I told you that.”

“I do have a life, you know.”

Chloe pierces him with her most brutal glare. “Don’t. Just—don’t.”

“Well, I do. Club to run, ladies to please. Needs must, you know.”

“That’s a lousy cop out and you know it.”

“Heh,” Lucifer snorts in amusement, summoning a smirk. “Police puns. Gotta love ‘em.”

“Lucifer, focus. I needed you, and you were completely awol. Tell me that that won’t happen again.”

Under the influence of that unwavering stare, Lucifer can’t help but cave. Sometimes he truly detests the drawbacks of befriending humans. It’s as if someone plunged a hand into his chest, fished around, and wrenched out all of these mushy-ass, stupid as hell pieces of himself he had no idea even existed.

“Okay, okay.” He raises his hands in surrender. “Touchy today, are we, dear?” At her unimpressed glare, he blusters a put-upon sigh. “ _Fine_. I won’t be so cruel as to deny you the pleasure of my company again. Happy?” This time, Chloe doesn’t bother repressing her eye roll, but it‘s a fond eye roll. Mostly. He's sure. “Besides, I don't mean to state the obvious, but if the case is so important, shouldn’t you be out there catching the bad guys instead of standing here schooling me in poor partnership?”

“Wrapped it up already.”

“Ooh, did we now?” Lucifer raises a playful brow. “Seems like you didn’t need my help that much, after all.”

“It’s not the help I wanted, Lucifer.”

The silence which envelops the room at that is thick and sobering, charged with something the Devil can‘t quite pinpoint.

All of a sudden, there’s a wobbly lumpy feeling in the back of his throat. “N-no?”

“I enjoy working with _you_ , you big dummy,” Chloe chuckles weakly. “I can recruit any weathered officer to assist in the odd case, but it’s not the same. It’s not _you_. You make things…better, okay? I dunno. Easier. Lighter.”

It takes all of his self-control and more to sustain his smug smirk.

“Miss me that much, Detective?”

“In a constant state of near-tears.”

Lucifer puffs up his chest and preens. “As you should have been.”

“It was very devastating,” Chloe agrees. A strange light enters her eyes. “Traumatic, really. So, if you wanna make it up to me, you can do me the honours of joining Trixie and I for our family dinner tonight.”

“Bit of a short notice, don’t you think?”

“It wouldn’t have been short notice had you simply  _answered_ my calls.”

He winces. “Got me there.”

“My place. Eight o‘clock. No excuses.”

“If you insist.”

Chloe jabs a finger at him. “No more avoiding me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Sir, yes, sir.”

He’s not quite positive how she managed to strong-arm him into going along with any plans which may potentially involve Sir-Douche-A-lot (after all, it is a _family_ event). But she did.

And he will. Go, that is. Only ‘cause he doesn’t want to hurt her feelings.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

Lucifer pushes up his sleeve and pulls a face at his wrist watch.

Ten to eight.

Goosebumps pebble beneath the starchy material of his shirt, and it’s too chilly, suddenly, to be sitting in the fading sun when there‘s someplace warmer he ought to be.

His knees wobble before he‘s hauled himself halfway to his feet. A young bearded fellow occupying a neighbouring bench gives him a curious look _,_ but he’s fine. He’s totally fine, he holds his head high. Nothing to see here, measly old mortals. Carry on.

Releasing a long, blustering sigh, Lucifer takes a moment to compose himself. That was the whole reason he’d cut across the park on the way to Penelope Decker’s residence, to _compose_ himself, thinking the fresh air would do him some good. Put a real smile on his face. Some colour in his cheeks. It seems, however, to have had the opposite effect.

Pity that.

His stomach feels slick and greasy. Today’s lunch—a freshly baked snicker doodle Lucifer snagged from Chloe‘s secret stash at her desk once she’d turned her back to speak with a civilian, the bloody fool. Reduced to coffee and crumbs once his anxious hands got a hold of it and gutted the whole godforsaken thing. Kept them busy. Away from his mouth. Why must they always try to wriggle into his mouth?—slops around inside his digestive system, back and forth, wall-to-wall. It’s a repulsive feeling, wholly unlike that of indigestion. One that makes him tense, twitchy. How many hours ago was lunch? That cookie’s the last thing Lucifer’s eaten.

He’d popped into the precinct on a whim, foolishly hoping that a new case might have sprung up between the twilight hours of now and then and commanded the detective‘s attention. Alas, there has been no such sudden spike in crime and Lucifer sulks, feeling put out by the thoughtlessness of LA’s wannabe criminals. The least they could do is storm a convenience store. Hold someone at gunpoint.

Is it really too much to ask that a dull white-collar gentleman get mugged by a brash hooligan? Left unharmed, of course. A bit shaken up by the ordeal. Nothing bruised but their pride; probably the most exciting thing to happen to them in their lives. Would that be so bad?

Or, or, perhaps an old pensioner’s purse could be stolen? Nothing taken but a wrinkled twenty and a few hard candies. That’d be all right, right? Chloe would be outraged. She’d definitely forget all about him, probably.

But, no. Not a peep out of the illegally-inclined.

They had a _slow_ _day_ at the office, for Dad’s sake. He got to swivel around in Chloe’s creaky spinny chair and blabber uninterrupted for a whole hour while Chloe filled out police reports, and while it _was_ pretty fun, Lucifer couldn’t help but feel like she was humoring him somehow. And not in her usual, exasperated but secretly entertained kind of way. Not once did she stop _smiling_. He kept expecting her to beg him to shut up or go away like she ordinarily would, but the clipped dismissal he predicted never came. Chloe _hmm’d_ and _ahh’d_ in all the right places. She hung onto his every nonsensical word. At one point, he abruptly ceased his lively chatter, sidetracked by the arresting glint of the pen he was fiddling with as it intercepted the path of the sun. He couldn’t tell you when or how exactly he came into possession of the shiny pen. For all he knew, it simply arrived in his hands.

Sure was rather riveting, though. It must have been five; maybe ten minutes before the clouds scudded over and blocked the blinding rays, ripping him out of the trance he’d fallen into.

Lucifer glanced up, punch-drunk, to find the detective staring at him, eyes speculative and indecipherable. The confusion must have shown on his face because she smiled comfortingly and commented, “Pretty, isn’t it?”

He jerkily bobbed his head, feeling slow and so exceptionally stupid.

“Can’t blame you for getting distracted. You were telling me a story,” Chloe prompted, “About grocery shopping with Maze. Remember?”

“Uh, yes,” Lucifer answered. “Of course. Where was I?” It took a moment or two before he recalled his place and picked up where he left off, albeit haltingly. He’d been sure to leave the pen on the edge of the desk, away from temptation.

The incident had thoroughly shaken him.

He couldn’t believe he’d let his guard down like that. It couldn’t happen again.

Lucifer tried his best to remain vigilant after that, but then Chloe was getting up and bending down to meet his line of vision and saying something about leaving for two minutes to double-check something, blah blah blah, that she’d be back real soon, don’t move, here’s something to keep you amused, and it was a whole lot harder to stop himself from playing with the clunky colorful ball she thrust at him. It had separate segments that spun to make the most delightful click clack sound that Lucifer couldn’t resist.

He twirled it in his hands and pushed and poked and—

What the hell was he doing?

This, this was so clearly a toy. A _baby_ toy. Chloe must have lifted it from lost and found. She couldn't have, he didn’t want to believe she had purposefully bought it.

Lucifer grappled at the handle of the first drawer and yanked it out, throwing the ball inside and panting hard.

Coincidentally, that’s also when he swiped the cookie. Devils gotta satisfy his sweet tooth somehow. And it was Chloe’s own fault. He was upset. Rightfully so! What did she think she was doing palming off a children’s toy on him?

And who leaves a Ziploc full of treats in their drawer, where just about anybody could slip in and nab ‘em? If you ask him, Chloe was begging for them to be eaten.

He left angry and betrayed. Much like Chloe will be when she realizes her not-so-secret stash has been tampered with. However, _in his defense_ , he’s positive he more than made up for it.

Once he’d calmed down that the urge to punch something had passed, Lucifer pulled out his phone to check what all that incessant buzzing had been about and found a flood of missed calls and semi-panicked messages demanding where he’d disappeared off to. And, okay, so _maybe_ he shouldn’t have left without saying anything. Especially when she’d specifically asked him to stay put. But Lucifer was in no mood for, well, whatever _that_ was. He didn’t want to confront her. He didn’t want to deal with it at all.

So he texted back that a situation had arose at Lux that required his assistance and that he would see her at dinner this evening. He regretted the last part as soon as he’d sent it, but mistakes were made. He would just have to power through it. Put on a brave face and suck it up. Denial is a man’s best friend. Well, that, and booze.

Inspiration had struck, and Lucifer had picked up a box of Chloe's favourite donuts from this dinky hole-in-the-wall she adores, frequented by hipsters and freeloaders feasting on the free wifi, and…her. A coconut crème for Chloe, hazelnut swirl for the teeny chocoholic, and one of the double-glazed variety for Dan-the-bland. An apology and a bribe, shall we say. Better to butter her up. Worth a try, in any case. If all else fails, he has a brown paper bag containing a cheeky bottle of wine that should loosen her up.

Then again, she doesn’t always like to drink around the offspring. Says it sets a bad example. Personally, he doesn’t see what the big deal is. It’s just alcohol. The child’s not stupid. She knows what it is and what it does. No point hiding it.

 _Whatever_. So long as it doesn’t stop him.

Bloody hell—What if she tries to stop him? That would be…Christ, that’d be his worst nightmare. He’s counting on the buzz to help him tolerate the Douche. Hell, the entire dinner. Lucifer can’t spend tonight sober.

By the time he arrives at the Decker household, Lucifer is _so close_ to talking himself out of it.

In fact, he is readying himself to turn around and backtrack down the drive when the curtain is drawn back and a tiny head peeks out the front window. Moments later, the door is thrown open by a whirlwind of energy and excitement that comes barrelling towards him, crashing into his legs and throwing wayward appendages around him. The force of it sends him tumbling backwards.

“Lucifer!” the youthful voice squeals. “You’re here!”

“Ahhh, yes. I...am...aren’t I? Perhaps I should—”

“We’re gonna have so much fun!” Trixie announces, bouncing on the balls of her feet like a deranged demon – trust him, he should know. “We can play housies. And I can show you my dolls and my hot wheels—”

Locking pleading eyes with a smirking Chloe, lured out by the commotion, Lucifer pats the soft head and awkwardly detangles himself from the frogspawn’s many arms. Good Lord. How many limbs can one child possess? They’re not bloody tentacles! Though, may Dad give him strength, they sure do bleeding feel like it.

“—and you can borrow them so long as you promise not to bite them.”

 _Bite_ them? Why on earth would he wish to bite them?

“Trix, baby, slow down,” Chloe comes to the rescue at last, laying a hand on the child’s shoulder to lead her away. “Don’t overwhelm him. Remember what I said about taking it easy?”

Something about the way she says it makes Lucifer tilt his head and narrow his eyes with suspicion, though given that it makes the spawn release her iron-tight grip, it’s probably best not to overthink it. Not thinking is what he does best.

“I’m sure Lucifer would be more than happy to play _after_ dinner. But let him pick the game, okay? No bullying others into doing what you want to do. Everyone gets a turn.”

Trixie rolls her eyes. “Yes, Mommy.”

“Now, come on.” Chloe inclines her head and smiles at Lucifer as Trixie takes his hand and tugs. “Food’s almost ready.”

Inside it’s the usual bland grandma grey and soft mint. Lucifer scowls at the ghastly 70's wallpaper as he is instructed to remove his dress shoes, feeling bare without them. Those hideous stripes do a marvellous job of distracting him, though. _Blyck_.

Lucifer turns, and thrusts the paper bag of goodies at Chloe. “For you,” he mumbles at her confused expression.

Chloe pokes around at the crinkly paper that’s torn on one side and withdraws the neck of the wine bottle, a disapproving frown pulling at her lips. The donuts, on the other hand? Those procure a genuine grin.

“My favourite. How did you know?”

Lucifer returns the smile. “Lucky guess.”

“Thank-you,” Chloe expresses, meeting his gaze. “Apology accepted.”

“How did you—?”

“Lucky guess.”

“Hey, buddy,” Dan greets him then with an unsettlingly friendly smile, coming up from behind and patting his shoulder. “How’s it going?”

“Uh...hi,” Lucifer haltingly replies, disarmed by the warmth and utter lack of disdain directed towards him.

“Glad you could make it. Wasn’t sure you’d show. It’s great to see you.”

That...even sounded sincere. How peculiar.

This change marks a new accord between them. Dan and he have never exchanged _actual_ pleasantries before. Certainly never been chummy enough for casual nicknames. Every other interaction has been undercut by passive aggressiveness and often outright hostility.

The animosity that existed between them showed no signs of defrosting. Yet, here Dan is, being...amicable.

Lucifer doesn’t trust it.

When Lucifer agreed to be civil, he didn’t think their temporary truce would involve the trading of insults for nicknames. He understands humans use pet names and such as a sign of affection. He simply wishes Danny-dear here had chosen a less daft one.

“Trixie!” Dan yells. “Come help Daddy set the table! Hope you’re hungry, kiddo.” Lucifer jerks in surprise when he realizes he’s back to addressing _him_. Dan ruffles his hair with a grin. “Dinner’ll be ready in a few.”

 _Kiddo?_ He mouths at Dan’s retreating back. Now that is an odd nickname.

Stupefied, Lucifer watches him pass out plates for Trixie to arrange around the table. She does so proudly and with slight difficulty. There’s a strange itchiness in his throat that only worsens as he overhears Dan praising the child for being such a great helper.

He doesn’t want to bear witness to this, but it’s like Lucifer can’t tear his eyes away.

While he’s subdued, Chloe pulls him aside and she’s patting him down before he can even think about objecting. She confiscates his hidden flask of whiskey, two of his finest cigars, his secret stash of jellybeans, not forgetting the doggy bag containing an unrolled blunt he was saving for a rainy day. (Just kidding. Later. Definitely later.)

“Lucifer!” comes the Detective’s scandalised whisper-reprimand. Right on time.

He shrugs innocently. “What?”

_“There are kids present!”_

Kids...plural?

“ _Relax_ , Detective.” He rolls his eyes. Honestly, she can be such a buzz killer sometimes. “It’s not like I’m planning on lighting them,” he trails off, “...right now.”

“That is _so_ not the point. I’m keeping them. You’ll get them back later, depending on good behaviour.”

“Can’t I at least have the jellybeans?”

“No. You’ll spoil your appetite.” He means to argue further, but she interrupts that train of thought with another bone to pick. “And another thing: I said dress casual, Lucifer. That,” she flicks a button on his shirt, “is not casual.”

“Oi, this is my cheapest shirt!” Lucifer pinches a handful and pouts. His entire wardrobe is hand-tailored. What did she expect? Who is he, Lucifer Morningstar, without his shiny shoes and bespoke suit?

“It’s too formal. Off,” Chloe commands.

“You can’t be serious,” he scoffs.

“As a heart attack.” She loops an arm around his and drags him down the small hallway to her bedroom. Lucifer’s intrigued; he’s never been allowed in there before. “C’mere. Lemme get you something to change into.”

He shouldn’t have listened. He should have fought harder. It’s boring and unsatisfactory and he’s stuck failing to unbutton his stupid shirt, same as before. Worse, because Chloe’s watching.

And – and he can’t do it. It’s too slippy and slidey and _impossible_.

“Is this really necessary?” he huffs, annoyed.

“For what Trixie’s got planned? Oh, yeah. Your shirt will thank you, trust me.”

Lucifer bites his lip as he flounders with the nimble-fingered task. He should be able to do this. He had no problem with the reverse this morning. What a load of bollocks.

It figures. It bloody _figures_.

Face softening at his crumpling brows and soft whimper of frustration, Chloe places her hands on top of his to still them and says gently, “Here. Allow me.”

“Can do it,” Lucifer tells her, because it’s suddenly very important that she knows this. He can.

 _Goddammit_ , he swears he can.

“I know you can, sweetie, I know. But it’s a little tricky right now and that’s okay. Everything’s okay.” She takes over, carefully undoing each clasp, while his arms dangle limply by his sides. He has the strongest urge to suck his index finger into his mouth, just one, just once, but that’s dirty. His finger would get all cold and slimy. And then Chloe would see and think he’s a big baby and he’s not, he doesn’t even like sucking his fingers anyway.

“Arms up.”

He obeys without hesitation, concentrating too hard on not doing anything untoward. Chloe steers his arms into the sleeves and it’s only when she tugs the t-shirt over his head and it falls loosely to his hips that Lucifer remembers he could have done that himself. Why...didn’t he dress himself?

The tee is plain, a nice pale shade of blue. It does not escape his notice, however, that someone had _Our Littlest Star!_ emboldened in white across the front.

His stomach twists uncomfortably.

“There. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Feeling oddly timid, Lucifer silently shakes his head. Guess not.

“See? All better.” Chloe runs her hands through his tousled hair, but doesn’t make any attempt to neaten it. “Handsome devil.”

Her voice is soft and gentle and makes him kinda sleepy, blinking slowly and relaxing on instinct. He shakes himself.

Bloody hell. What is he _doing_? Snap out of it. He can’t afford to go there right now. She’s making him all confused!

Lucifer must clear his throat three times before he can safely give voice to his concerns. “Wh-why this, may I ask? Why not something else? Something less...” Childish. “Ridiculous.” As he speaks, he feels his confidence return.

Lucifer straightens his shoulders from where they unconsciously curved inward.

“Sorry.” Chloe adopts a sheepish countenance. “These are the only clothes I have in your size."

“And you just…happened at have this at hand?”

“Uh-huh."

He quirks a single brow. “In my size?”

“I can’t take all the credit. Dan helped.”

“Douche-kins _himself_?” Lucifer cries, aghast.

She nods, blasé. “Uh-huh.”

“ _Why_?” For heaven’s sake, why?!

“Suits you, don’t you think?”

That is not a real answer. Before he can push the matter, Dan shouts, “Food’s ready!”

Feeling his chance of an explanation slipping away, Lucifer snatches Chloe’s forearm to hold her there.

The jig is up.

“You engineered all of this, didn’t you?” he accuses, narrowing his eyes as a terrible thought occurs to him. He shakes her a little. “Chloe, is this a dinner or a play date? You tell me right now.”

“Or, what?” His breath catches as she all but confirms it. “You walk?”

The gall of it. Imagine. Just _imagine_ the sheer audacity to – to just –

It sets his teeth on edge. His tone is biting as he snaps, “I have a feeling I may regardless.”

But then she’s staring up at him with those earnest blue eyes and taking his hand, leading him towards the rest of her family. And Trixie jiggles in exuberance with the widest and brightest smile imaginable. And Dan grins and exclaims, “There’s the guest of honour! Or should I say ‘our little star?’”

And Chloe whispers: “Stay.”

And Lucifer…stays.

Because his drawing, as promised, is right there on the fridge. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: terribly sorry, but I accidentally uploaded an older draft and didn't notice until after it was too late. I've only now had the chance to post the more recent version. Thanks for all the wonderful feedback. Hope these small changes don't take away from your initial feelings.

**Author's Note:**

> Wanna get in touch? Come visit me on [tumblr](http://freetoagoodhome-giggles96.tumblr.com).


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